Checkout (4 page)

At lunchtime you often see customers using their lunch break to do their shopping but you also see others (and it could be the same ones) just tucking in there and then. The supermarket starts to look like a self-service café. And some customers a little like pigs.

Maybe it could be a new retail concept.

Imagine having this lot at your till:

Customer 1: He's in the process of devouring his tuna and mayo sandwich – noisily with his mouth wide open so that you can see everything inside (hey, where are the gherkins?). You ask him if you can borrow his sandwich for a second to scan the price. You have to wait for him to bite another piece off before he hands it to you and he
takes it back almost immediately. Mind your fingers. He pays and thanks you with some incomprehensible words accompanied by pieces of tuna and bread which land on your conveyor belt. Wonderful, you get to use your paper towel and cleaning products sooner than you'd planned. But watch out: mayonnaise is slippery.

Customer 2: He puts his items on your belt, including a packet of crisps, which you pick up. They spray all over your till because he hasn't thought it necessary to warn you that he has already opened the packet. On the other hand, he does find it necessary to shout at you (just what you need) and demand another packet of crisps. While he goes to get them, best to give your till a quick clean. And never mind if your hands are all greasy, they'll go with your conveyor belt which is already well coated.

Customer 3: You've noticed him in the queue and already feel ill. You've seen him unwrap a family-sized Camembert and bite straight into it. When it's his turn he has already finished it. How can he have gobbled it all down at such speed? The smell is making you gag. And it will hang around long after the customer has gone.

Customer 4: This one shouts at you because you want to make her pay for the bottle of fruit juice she drank and left
beside the till. It's true of course and you should never forget it: checkout girls are meant to be blind and stupid.

The lunch period requires nerves of steel
and
a strong stomach. But you'll soon get used to it and the sight of customers who eat in the aisles will no longer revolt you. One less thing to scan, you'll tell yourself.

Is it time for your lunch now?
Bon appétit!

I admire those customers (mostly female) who only buy the store's bargains and nothing else. Maybe it's their revenge for ever-rising prices and the feeling that they are being squeezed dry.

This kind of customer has an iron will. She has a long detailed shopping list and never allows herself to be tempted by anything that is not on special offer. Standing in front of the cheese counter, she would like to buy Camembert, but only Roquefort is covered by the money-back guarantee. Neither she nor her husband like it much but never mind, she takes it anyway. Four of them. Same thing for the fruit yoghurts – only the strawberry flavour is eligible for the refund guarantee and her son hates
strawberry. She gets it anyway. ‘Strawberry flavour or no pudding.'

She also plans ahead: the family-sized washing powder – ‘Not satisfied? Money-back guarantee.' Five packets. ‘It will always come in handy. There are three of us at home.' The same thing for the flour – thirty points on your loyalty card. Ten packets. ‘There'll be some left over for Christmas.' (Even though it's only January.)

Finally, this type of customer has a lot of patience. On each trip, she meticulously checks all round the store to make sure she doesn't miss any bargains. But it's at the till that she really needs patience. She will require a receipt for every item covered by the money-back guarantee as proof of purchase. You do the maths: thirty items, thirty receipts and about fifteen minutes' patience (and more if she pays by card, cash, cheque and voucher, and alternates payment methods).

And when this bargain hunter comes to
your
till you're always a bit nervous. Is she nice? Does she know her way around the system? Otherwise, she might wait until you've scanned all the items (35), told her the total amount due (£52.38), asked for a loyalty card (twice because she didn't answer the first time) before saying ‘Oh, I need a separate receipt for each item!'

So what if lots of people are waiting? That's not her problem. All the bargain customer wants is those
infamous receipts, the open sesame for the money-back guarantee.

Luckily, the regulars come at quiet times and love sharing their discoveries with the checkout girls.

And bargain customers must be very good cooks. Making something every day out of sardines in oil (‘30 points on your loyalty card') and cheese-flavoured crisps (‘Win a trip to Center Parcs'), or coffee (‘3 for the price of 4') and tomato sauce (‘45% free') is not easy. And spaghetti hoops (‘money-back guarantee!') eight times a month is nice but won't you get tired of it the following month?

What’s the point? There isn’t one, or not much of one (don’t kid yourself – it won’t make you a millionaire). It’s just an ingenious way to encourage customers to come back to a particular store instead of going to their competitors. Yes, you can win a cuddly toy with 3,000 points (1 point for every pound spent in store), a darts board with 5,000 points, a plastic fruit-bowl with 10,000 points, a trip to Eurodisney in the raffle, a portable DVD player (that breaks after a week) with 90,000 points and £25 or a gift voucher worth £5 which is only valid for special offers … Really makes you want to fight tooth and nail to get that supermarket loyalty card, doesn’t it? And makes it imperative that you go
out and buy as many products as possible as often as possible.

But that’s just scratching the surface of what the loyalty card can give you. It also offers amazing vouchers:50p for a box of washing powder worth £9.98 or a refund for one item if you buy five others the same – as long as you have the card and come back and spend the amount you won in the store the next day (I always admire the simplicity of their explanations, don’t you?). Then there are the special-offer days when cardholders (aren’t they lucky?) can buy more to spend more.

But never, ever forget the expiry date for your precious points or your voucher because, if you go over the expiry date, you will lose all the benefits you have stored up with such effort over the months or even years and you can kiss goodbye to that pack of playing cards, that synthetic teddy bear or that fondue set …

I admire the way the marketing people in supermarkets so readily (or should that be so disdainfully?) assume that their customers will react to loyalty cards like children who have been presented with a Kinder Surprise. But, given the success of loyalty cards, consumers do seem to have rediscovered their inner child. And today ‘the card’ is essential. The more you have (any of them), the more you feel the company belongs to you. But above all, if we didn’t have loyalty cards the checkout girls
wouldn’t have anything to say to the customer. (‘How does it work?’ ‘Why doesn’t it give me anything?’ ‘How many points do I have?’ ‘Will my Club Card work at Sainsbury’s?’ ‘I didn’t have my card with me last month – can you add my points?’ and so on.) That really would be a shame.

‘We would like to inform customers that the store will be closing in fifteen minutes. Please make your way to the tills. Have a nice evening.'

8.45 p.m.: Panic buying. Customers go mad. There's not a minute to lose. People start running all over the place.

And bang! Trolleys collide with each other.

Crash! The chocolate-box pyramid falls down.

‘Damn it, they've already packed up the green beans!'

Thud! Chuck the butter, milk, cheese and yoghurts in the trolley … and never mind the rest.

‘Why are they closing so early? Lazy so and sos!'

8.55 p.m.: The music from the speakers stops.

‘Quick, get to the till!'

Only three tills still open. A few minutes to wait in the queue. ‘You'll have time to get some pasta while I wait!'

9 p.m.: The security grating at the entrance starts to close.

Right, the last customer has gone through. Oh no! Here's another one running over, out of breath.

The lights start to go out.

That's it, the day really is over.

You let out a little sigh of relief, followed almost immediately by a cry of amazement. Who is that in the biscuits aisle? There's a trolley, right at the end … a couple is wandering up as if they have all the time in the world. You can tell from their attitude that they don't intend to head to the tills yet. But sparks are going to fly – the security guard has spotted them too.

But no! He's the one who is shouted at. The couple get angry. You can hear raised voices. The lady's face is all red.

After a good five minutes the argument stops and the couple follow the security guard, irritated. You think he's won. But suddenly, when they are only a few feet away from your till, the husband turns around and dashes back to get that packet of biscuits. A matter of life or death,
apparently. The woman continues to push her trolley slowly, looking you straight in the eyes.

Their time at the till is spent being slow and verbally abusive.

One item scanned, one insult thrown at you (‘It's a scandal, we're your best customers. We have the right to take our time to choose!'). One item scanned, one insult thrown at you (‘Don't go so fast, are you stupid or something?'). One item scanned, one insult thrown at you … And their trolley is full.

9.25 p.m.: The couple leave your till. All the lights are out except yours, like a lighthouse fighting the wind and waves. You have been on overtime for twenty-five minutes. It's unpaid but you can claim it back in leave when management feels like it. Smile – the couple come back at least twice a month and always at the same time. But hey, the next time they come at closing time you won't be there, it'll be your day off, you lucky thing!

I have one piece of advice: buy a punchball!

But isn't life great? There is also an opening-time version of this couple. And the countdown starts early!

8.25 a.m., 35 minutes before opening: Their car arrives in the car park. They are the first. They beam with pride.
They can park in the best place, just in front of the entrance. The first victory of the day. Quick, there's no time to lose: get the best trolley (sparkling clean inside and with no squeaky wheels).

30 minutes before opening: They are in position, the front of their trolley is touching the entrance barrier. It has started to rain. They have forgotten their umbrella. But they won't wait in the car and risk having their place stolen when a second car arrives! The second victory of the day.

15 minutes before opening: They are soaked through but still the first of more than … six people. So that makes six victories so far. Their impatience and adrenaline mount. Their trolley revs as they do a final check of the shopping list with simultaneous visualisation of the store's aisles. Once inside they mustn't lose a second. Careful! Raindrops are smudging the shopping list. Never mind, they know it by heart.

5 minutes before opening: Your day begins. A big sigh followed by a long yawn. Your eyes are still puffy with sleep. You sit down with your cash box. You glance at the entrance and notice the seven … eight … ten … fifteen morning fanatics. You let out another big, long sigh.

1 minute before opening: The couple are dripping wet. ‘It's always the same at this shop, they always open late!'

Opening time: ‘Good morning and welcome to …' The noise of the security grating rising prevents the end of the welcome message being heard.

The couple: ‘Ah, at last!' And the grating rises and rises … slowly, too slowly. They slip underneath. The security guard indicates that they should wait. ‘You're late, we've got other things to do, you know!' they say, angry.

Opening time + 30 seconds: Right, they have (finally!) got through the door, the first to do so. There's not a second to lose. They head straight to the meat aisle. There won't be enough for everyone.

Opening time + 4 minutes: They are your first customers. And you record the first
beeeep!
of the day. Well done! You're impressed: thirty items collected in less than five minutes. That's a first. You watch them. They must be savouring their absolute victory. Well, no actually. The husband is annoyed. ‘Can't you go a bit faster?'

Opening time + 7 minutes: They leave your till. With a ‘thank you' or ‘goodbye'? Anything? No time … the exit is at the other end of the store.

Opening time + 8 minutes: The exit security grating is not open yet. The couple are standing in front of it, furious. That makes your day.

Opening time + 30 minutes: They have gone home. They have put their shopping away. Their hair is still wet. And they have nothing else planned for the day. The husband sneezes … Outside the rain has stopped … The sun comes out.

So which would you prefer, the Opening Time couple or the Closing Time couple? Can't decide? How about both in the same day?

Until now I haven't given you a very positive image of customers. Let me put that right straight away by telling you about the ones who make you laugh. Hold on to your till, it's going to be great.

In the space of one day on average you will hear:

Don't look like that! At least they aren't nasty, and actually acknowledge your presence. OK, being treated like an idiot isn't great. But if you don't answer, at least give them a little smile (I know, it'll encourage them to do it again next time).

And by the way, do you know what the checkout girl's best feature is? It's her laugh!